


Smile (for the camera)

by drunkenCharm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, terribly fluffy couple moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkenCharm/pseuds/drunkenCharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that easy to catch a flattering photo of Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smile (for the camera)

„Smile!“

Derek doesn't smile. Not that it would have mattered, with the way the picture turns out overexposed anyway.

Stiles tries not to make a face when he examines the paper in his hand. Most of his face is clear, maybe a little goofy-looking because of the awkward angle, but it's Stiles. Derek on the other hand--

“Those reflective eyes are so stupid. We'll never have a nice photo of us.”

Derek mumbles, showing no effort in trying to hide his lack of interest.

But Stiles is not one to give up that easily. He bounces on the bed and the whole thing squeaks threateningly under the extra weight. The countless times he told Derek to get a new one but was confronted with a child-like stubbornness...

“Come on, doesn't it make you sad? At least a little, tiny-winy, itsy-bitsy sad that we will never ever have a cute couple picture of us?”

“No.”

Stiles pouts, for one second playing with the thought of punching Derek. But Derek punches back, hard. The ache is not worth it.

With a sigh that comes from the depth of his chest he leans his face against Derek's broad back. The heat radiating off of the werewolf's body sends a pleasant shudder run through his own. He got so used to being embraced by a furnace during the night that the times when Derek can't, for whatever reason, be with him, Stiles finds it difficult to find resting sleep.

With the tip of one finger he draws little circles over Derek's dark shirt, feeling every little bump of muscles when the other man shifts.

“It makes me sad”, he starts again. “Scott and Allison are taking pictures all the time. For his last birthday she gave him a collage, only with photos of them. It looked really cool-”

“We're not Scott and Allison.”

“No”, Stiles sighs and sits up again, “we really aren't.”

Derek remains silent, his full focus on the opened book in front of him. He can hold it with one hand, long fingers spanning over it's back and keeping it balanced. The other rests motionless on his thigh. Stiles feels suddenly jealous of the book, after all, it should be him with Derek's hand holding him gently, massaging the tense muscles in his shoulders or rub that spot right over his tailbone that makes the hairs on his arms stand on edge in pleasure.

“We will never have a nice picture.”

Derek turns a page.

“No reminder of those wonderful days spent in a slowly falling apart house in the middle of the woods.”

A little shift to the side and Stiles sinks deeper into the mattress.

“Or all those fun adventures in the night where we almost got eaten or shot.”

He ignores the slight growl.

“Or of our wedding and our kids and--”

“What?”

Jackpot. Now he has his attention.

Stiles puts on his most innocent face when Derek turns to half-glare, half-stare at him in what must be a mixture of surprise and down-to-hell fear. “Our wedding? _Kids_?”

“Yeah”, Stiles smiles, leaning forward to sling an arm around Derek's chest. He doesn't even get close to the left shoulder. “You and me, both wearing those fancy tuxedos, maybe with a red rose tugged in each front pocket. Sharing the first piece of cake, the first dance, posing with people we barely know but of whom my Dad said we should invite... and then our kids, cute little baby wolves with dark curls and sharp fangs, on their first day in school, together with their crush right before prom, their high school graduation. Then of course, someday, their kids, our grandchildren and us, both old and gray-haired sitting on our porch in summer and smiling at the pack we raised.”

The silence that hangs in the air afterward isn't unpleasant, not for Stiles. He presses his cheek against the hard form of the other man and lets his mind slowly drift off into scenes which would never happen, but would be so nice.

The cough vibrates through his skull and he lifts his head curiously when Derek makes an attempt to look at him, sheepishly.

“That of course is... well, it's a pity.”

Stiles nods. Derek doesn't look him in the eyes, his gaze is glued to a spot right over Stiles' head on the opposite wall.

“But, you know, I could, maybe-- I don't know, close my eyes?”

For a breath Stiles stares at him silently, then he bursts out into a slightly hysterical laughter.

“What, on every picture?” he manages to gasp out between the giggles. “Dude, that's so dumb.”

“'s was just an idea”, Derek mumbles darkly and turns to sink back into his book again. But Stiles wouldn't let him go that easily. He pushes himself up on his knees and half hangs over the other man's back and shoulder, reaching out with one hand to cover the letters.

“Hey, come on, I know, okay? But, really, that would look weird. And I love those eyes way too much to have them closed in every picture. I rather have no photo at all then, and instead spend my time looking at the real ones...”

His teeth lightly scrape over an ear and Derek shudders beneath him. It's so easy to bring the leviathan to fall, he just has to know the weak spots.

“So, no photos then.”

“No photos.”

The warm hand feels good and heavy on his own. The skin in Derek's neck is surprisingly soft, Stiles likes to press his face into the crook under his jaw and fall asleep with his scent surrounding him, pleasantly lulling his senses.

He presses a small kiss right under the ear. It doesn't matter they would never have a nice photo of them together, what really mattered are the memories. And Stiles is determined to make plenty of those.

When Derek turns around he instantly falls forward to steal a warm kiss. It still sends butterflies flutter around in his stomach, and Stiles hopes this feeling will never end.

“Hey, I have an idea. Make place.”

He lets himself gently be shoved over the bed until Derek could settle next to him, long legs stretched out, making the bed squeak with every new inch. They move around until Stiles ends up in Derek's lap, arms resting around the man's neck and legs straddling his thighs.

Carefully he reaches for Stiles' Polaroid camera. His father once gave it to him when he was still little. Stiles had had a weird photography phase as a child, he liked to take pictures of mud and frogs, and sometimes a flower or two would cross his lense. It's a cheap one, but it has done it's share.

“Come here.”

Stiles obliges all too willingly and leans into the kiss, sighing happily when Derek begins to rub that spot over his tailbone.

The flash of light startles him and he opens his eyes, staring right into Derek's, dark with rogue.

“What was that?” he mumbles. The familiar screeding sound of a photo being shoved through the small slit of the camera caught his attention and when he turns his eyes fall on the thin paper, lying on the bed's surface like nothing in the world could destroy it's internal peace.

The surface feels still warm against his fingertips and with curiosity unfolding in his chest Stiles examines it.

It shows the two of them, seemingly lost in a deep kiss and both with their eyes closed. No weird flash coming from any of them.

A smile starts to tug at the corners of his lips.

“Ah, I see”, he says. “That's nice.”

It's not just nice, it's _awesome_. But he would be damned to let Derek involuntarily participate in another emotional outburst over a simple thing. The first had been the night when Derek promised to stay for the first time and Stiles had done a little happy dance in the middle of his room, hearing the dark growl of the man but also catching the smile shooing over his features.

“But you do realize this is what sixteen year old girls have as a background for their cell phone, right? It's the very tip of Mount Sappy, the deepest spot of Lake Hard Feelings. It's the seventh circle of romance--”

His rant gets cut off by a press of lips on his own. Not the worst way to shut him up, Stiles realizes, as he firmly holds the photo in his hand.


End file.
